


I'll always leave the lights on and you'll return to me

by livingvakariouslythroughyou (supercow585)



Series: The Start of Something [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Except for the speculation about what happens after, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kinda, Reunions, brief mention of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 22:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11861073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercow585/pseuds/livingvakariouslythroughyou
Summary: Jessica Jones, with her impenetrable exoskeleton and backbone made of steel, had thought that her nights of not being able to sleep were mostly behind her, except for the odd nightmare or insomniac night here and there. But as with so many other things lately, Matt Murdock is proving her wrong about that. Infuriatingly wrong. And the worst part is, he’s not even around for her to bitch at him for it... until he is.In which, Jessica tries to cope and process her grief in the wake of the events at Midland Circle. Canon compliant with the events of The Defenders (aside from the fact that I doubt they'll ever end up together in the canon of the shows). Not really in the same universe as my A Skirmish of Wit universe fics on account of the different way things go in that story.





	I'll always leave the lights on and you'll return to me

**Author's Note:**

> The timeline is a bit ambiguous because I'm guessing and doing some serious hand-waving, but it's basically set some time after the end of the final episode of The Defenders. Title is taken from the Jack's Mannequin song "Hostage."

Jessica Jones, with her impenetrable exoskeleton and backbone made of steel, had thought that her nights of not being able to sleep were behind her. Well, _mostly_ … except for the odd nightmare or insomniac night here and there. But as with so many other things lately, Matt Murdock is proving her wrong about that. Infuriatingly wrong. And the worst part is, he’s not even around for her to bitch at him for it.

\---

She watches, paralyzed and utterly helpless, as the building begins to shudder and the weight of fifty stories starts to crumble in on itself from the explosion of a hell of a lot of C4. It’s as if time slows as she watches the nightmare play out in front of her. She feels the violent rush of air as it collapses, spraying dirt and debris, hears thousands of glass windows shattering, sees the transformation from a structure to a pile of rubble in a matter of seconds, and her heart all but stops. But her mind reels.

_No one could survive that, not even you. Right?_

He should be standing here, right here next to her, laughing at her snarky retort about property insurance or shoddy workmanship or _something_. But he isn’t, and her tongue is sluggish and leaden, mouth clamped shut. There’s no reason to joke if he isn’t here to laugh with her. She barely registers Danny saying something, to her right, and her stomach churns at his words.

_This can’t be happening._

Suddenly she’s acutely aware of the space around her and how it feels a little too open. Empty, like something is missing. Someone. A Matt shaped hole standing between her and rest of the world, no matter where she is nor the amount of other people milling about around her. Because one person is still missing.

_Did you really plan to stay down there, you bastard?_

Everyone reacts slightly differently, but the shock is evident on each of their faces. As they wait around, making their statements and waiting for the all clear at the station, she keeps surveying the others’ eyes, looking for a clue, for a sign that they are all somehow sharing the same bizarre delusion. But eventually she stops looking anywhere but at her shoes because the more she does, the more her worst fears are confirmed. Because all she sees when she looks at them is the same blank, horrified look that she refuses to look in the mirror and see on her own face.

_You fucking idiot._

She doesn’t remember going home, she just knows that as soon as she gets there, she is overcome with restlessness. She wants to shed her skin, as though putting distance between her mind and her physical body could somehow help her escape the bottomless pit that is slowly making itself known in the place where her heart used to be. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt this lonely. And that’s saying something.

Eventually, she tires of sitting on her couch and staring at the wall in front of her. So she drinks until her bottle of whiskey is empty, then lies down to pretend to sleep because she can think of nothing else to do. But as she lays there, trying to play back the night’s events and understand them, she can’t. She just can’t believe he’s gone. Her brain literally cannot make sense of the concept of a world without him in it.

She keeps thinking that she would have really liked to hear his story- the whole thing, in the way he’d like to tell it. And she would have really liked to tell him hers.

But now she’ll never get to.

_Son of a bitch, Matt. What have you done to me?_

\---

If someone had tried to tell her a month ago that she would run into a blind lawyer who would turn out to be Daredevil, she would have scoffed at the idea. If they had then said that she’d go on to work with him to take down a dangerous shadow organization full of zombie ninjas bent on achieving immortality and world domination in order to save New York City, she’d have laughed until she cried. But if they had said that, in addition to everything else, she would unintentionally fall in love with him in the process, she’d have been torn between paying the person a substantial amount of money for their services of entertainment or telling them to fuck right off with a strong right hook because, _of course she wouldn’t._

But now, as more and more time accumulates between the current day and that night at Midland Circle, she finds she spends her nights laying in bed, unable to sleep or think about anything other than his stupid, stubbled, smiling face. And she’s shocked (and just a little ashamed) to acknowledge that they’d have been right. About all of it. 

_Goddamn you, Murdock._

\---

About two weeks on, Trish figures it out, much to Jessica’s dismay, and ambushes her about it while they’re eating take-out on Trish’s couch one night.

“Hey. Are you doing okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Well, you don’t look fine. You look like you’re carrying around a lot of guilt. Is this about Daredevil?”

“Don’t- you don’t have to call him that. His name was Matt, okay? And, no. It’s not.”

“Jess, don’t do that. If you don’t want to talk about it, fine. But don’t lie to me. I’m just trying to help.”

Jessica chews her lip and sighs. “Ugh, fine. It’s maybe a _little_ about him.”

Trish fixes her with a hard stare that Jessica tries to ignore it until Trish clears her throat, clearly not having any of Jessica’s shit. Jessica rolls her eyes and sighs exasperatedly, but settles back into her corner of the couch, resigned to say something, if only because she needs to get the words out of her head before they drive her any crazier.

“Look, I know I didn’t know him for very long, but … there was something about him. Like he was fucked up in this … familiar way. Like he understood me because he’d seen his fair share of shit and had some rough edges himself. And the idiot made me laugh. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… I really miss him.”

Trish gives Jess a soft smile and rubs her shoulder affectionately. Jessica exhales a long sigh, then shakes her head. Now that she’s opened the valve to speak, it’s like the words won’t stop pouring out.

“I just can’t help thinking that I shouldn’t have left him there. I should have refused to go unless he came with me. I should have _made_ him leave.”

“Jess, I can imagine you feel guilty, but what makes you think he would have gone with you?”

“I don’t know. But … maybe if I had told him about what happened to me, explained about Kilgrave and the mind control, maybe I could have changed his mind about that Elektra woman. Maybe he would have been able to hear that she was a lost cause.”

“You can’t beat yourself up about this. It’s not your fault. I’m truly sorry he’s gone, but there was nothing you could do.”

A crushing weight of anguish settles in her stomach. “Yeah. Maybe that’s what I hate the most.” Unbidden, tears begin to well in the corners of her eyes and she blinks them away, hoping that Trish doesn’t see them. But she’s never been able to keep much of anything from Trish.

“Hey, come here.” Trish holds out her arms and Jess slowly moves over to hug her as a new wave of tears threaten to fall. Trish catches her making the tiniest of sniffles and gives her a knowing look as she settles back into the couch.

“I know what this is about. You loved him. Admit it.”

"What?! _No_. That’s insane. I barely even knew him.”

“Jess, it’s okay.”

Jessica gives Trish a look of incredulity that slowly transforms into a resigned frown as she gives up the idea of trying to bullshit her way out of this. She collapses into a heap, her head in her hands as she wipes away stubborn tears.

“God, I’m such an idiot. I don’t know how the hell this happened.”

“I do. And yes you do, because you just told me. He was sweet. He was funny. He was like you in that he had _gifts_ and a desire to help other people. And he was just complicated enough to make you feel like you weren’t the only one in the world with a terrible, tragic past.” She pauses, looking at Jess out of the corner of her eyes and giving her a small smirk. “And I think it helped that he was fairly attractive.”

Jessica clenches her eyes shut and deflates a little, because Trish is, as always, one hundred percent correct. Unsure of what else to do, she picks up her plate to continuing eating, but as she considers another bite, she realizes her appetite, which was minimal before, has officially disappeared. With an annoyed glare at nothing in particular, she puts the plate back down on the table and slumps back into the couch.

“Shit. I’m a mess.”

Trish sets her plate down next to Jessica’s and turns to face her. “I know that emotional expression of any kind is not something you willingly do, but you’re going to have to let this out, eventually. It’ll eat you up if you try to keep it all in.”

The sarcasm comes as an automatic response, a shield she cowers behind because her emotions are dangerously close to being on full display, and she doesn’t know if she’ll ever stop feeling this agony if she truly lets herself start. “Thanks, _Dr. Walker_. And how much do I owe you for tonight’s session?”

Trish, like a saint, doesn’t bristle at all at her words. “Hey, someone needs to be your therapist since you keep refusing to go back and see a real one.”

“I don’t need therapy, Trish. I just need…”

“To process your grief?” Trish gives her a challenging look.

But Jessica gives it right back. “Some whiskey.”

Trish frowns and turns back to her dinner. “I still think talking about him would help.”

“Yeah, help turn me into a emotional wreck.”

“Better here than anywhere else.”

Jessica closes her eyes and sighs. “Fine. I will consider your offer… But not tonight. I don’t think I have it in me. Maybe later this week. _Maybe_.”

Trish’s smile tell Jess that she is stuck because Trish will definitely hold her to this agreement. Jessica rolls her eyes affectionately in Trish’s direction. Even when she's infuriating, Jessica knows that Trish is one of the very best things in her life. And she's in a new habit of being grateful for everyone she cares about, regardless of how irritated they may make her.

Later, as Jess is picking up her bag and putting on her coat in preparation to leave, Trish turns to her, face bright the way it gets when she thinks she has a brilliant plan.

“Hey. Do you want me to come with you to the cemetery sometime? You know, to visit?”

Jessica chews her lip for a moment before turning back to Trish. After turning the idea around in her head a few times, she decides it’s a good one, that it might even help a little. Jessica looks her in the eye for the first time all night and agrees. “Yeah… I’d like that. Thanks, Trish.”

As Jessica exits Trish’s building to the street, she decides that the last place she’d like to be is home.

Instead, she finds herself walking toward her new bar of choice, where she’d met Luke once before. She stays until last call, killing time as much as drinking, because she knows that if she tries to sleep, all she will do is see Matt’s face. But she's already cried once today, and she sure as hell won't allow herself to cry about him again. At least not tonight.

\---

A week or so later, Luke texts her, asking to hang out again, and she agrees to meet him for a drink. During the course of their meeting, the conversation inevitably turns to Matt. Luke catches her grimace at the sound of Matt’s name, though she tries to hide it behind a drink of whiskey. But when he asks her what’s wrong, she can’t seem to fake a convincing enough shrug to keep him from pushing.

“Jess, are you doing okay? What’s wrong?”

She takes another drink, then flattens her mouth into a hard line before looking off to the side long enough that he has to call to her again. “Jess?”

She sighs and turns to look down at the bar in front of her instead of making eye-contact with him. “I just keep thinking about him, you know. Thinking that I should have intervened since he was clearly not in his right mind. That I should have tried to talk him out of it, or… hell, carried him out of there myself. Anything but leaving him behind.”

Luke sighs and puts a warm, reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I get that. I do. And I miss him too. But don’t forget that you’ve got other friends that are still here, Jones.”

Inside, her heart splinters into a thousand jagged little pieces because Matt wasn't just her _friend_. Or at least she wanted him to be so much more that. But she knows that Luke is trying to be helpful. She licks her lips and nods. “Yeah.”

He gives her a small, sad smile and picks up his glass. “To Murdock.”

Jess bites her tongue, almost so hard it bleeds to create a physical source of pain to offset the overwhelming emotional pain she doesn’t want to think about, let alone express. She raises her glass and toasts with him with a tight voice. “To Murdock.”

She shoots the liquor so quickly that she doesn’t have time to think, instead focusing on the burn of the whiskey on the back of her throat. She orders one more shot and downs it before making excuses about needing to go do some late night sleuthing. Luke nods and encourages her not to be shy and to try texting him next time, for a change. She scoffs and tells him not to count on it, then turns and walks out of the bar as quickly as she can without seeming suspect. But it’s still not fast enough to beat the tear that falls down her cheek right before she exits out onto the sidewalk. She rolls her shoulders and sets off toward her apartment, fingernails digging into the palms of her hands to keep any more tears from falling.

She goes home, but when she gets there, she once again doesn’t sleep. Instead, she lays in her bed and listens to the sounds of traffic and thinks about how much better she would feel right now if she had never decided to look for John Raymond. Because then she never would have met Matt Murdock.

Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost than never loved at all was a fucking _liar._ Because at least before she fell for Matt, she knew what being alone felt like, and could handle it just fine. But now, having met him _and_ lost him means living the rest of her godforsaken life missing him.

Even from the grave, he's pissing her off, and if anything were the embodiment of Matt, she guesses it would be that. One brief, pleasant moment of laughter hits her hard in the gut as she acknowledges the thought, like she’s surfacing from the depths that had been trying to drown her. But as soon as she catches her breath, the crushing emptiness rushes back in to fill the gaps left in her lungs and chest, forcing out the air and the lightness and pulling her back down, swifter and stronger than before. She doesn’t even try to fight the agony that colonizes her stomach this time. What would be the point?

So, she spends another night staring at the cracks in the plaster of her ceiling and reminding herself that she absolutely _can’t_ disappear too, because she can’t stand the thought of making anyone she cares about feel the way she feels right now.

\---

The last person she expects to call her, let alone give her any real comfort, is Danny Rand. But he does, a few days later. He offers to take her to lunch so they can talk, and she agrees on the condition that she gets to pick the restaurant. He huffs a laugh at her but agrees. They’ve barely even ordered by the time he gets to the heart of things.

“Jess, are you okay?”

She takes a deep breath and consciously tones down the level of acid she uses in her tone. It’s not as much fun making him suffer as it used to be without Matt smirking at her in the periphery. “Do I look okay?”

“Right, sorry. Well, for what it’s worth, I feel terrible too. And I’m sorry. I’ve been meaning to tell you that.”

The eyebrow raise she gives him is just short of violent. “For what?”

“For… Matt. I should have known what he meant when he told me to protect the city, and I should have tried to stop him. I’m so sorry.”

She grips the edge of the table hard enough to leave indents from her fingers to keep from punching him in the face. Because it isn’t his fault. Not really.

“No. I should have stopped him too. Or I should have knocked his ass out and dragged him along with me if I had to. But don’t be sorry. It wasn’t just you.”

Danny frowns, a crease forming on his forehead and suddenly she’s thinking of Matt and the way his forehead would crinkle in a similar way. Then she’s thinking about getting up and leaving, lunch be damned, before Danny speaks and interrupts her spiraling thoughts.

“I know the four of us didn’t spend all that much time together, but with all we shared and all we accomplished … it started to feel like some kind of a friendship. And I miss having him around.”

Jessica clenches her eyes shut to chase off tears that she has no patience for in general, but _especially_ not in front of Danny Rand. “Yeah, me too.”

“I know it won’t be exactly the same, but maybe the three of us can still hang out sometimes. So we can honor him, and also just to continue being friends. I don’t have a whole lot of those, but I’d like to try to keep the few I’ve made.”

She doesn’t even roll her eyes at him, just gives him an exaggerated sigh. Because as much as she wants to punch him in the face sometimes, she _really_ doesn’t want to lose anyone else.

“Yeah, sure.”

The smile he gives her at that almost keeps her from demolishing a dumpster in some back alley as she lets out all of her roiling emotions after their meal.

Almost.

\---

It’s in the evening, on her way back to her apartment at the end of that week when she finally gets a break. The kind she wouldn’t admit to dreaming about, but that had been the only thing to get her through some of the most dark and difficult nights.

She takes her phone out of her pocket to see that Malcolm is calling her just as she gets into the elevator. She reluctantly picks up and doesn’t modulate her sarcasm in the slightest. “Are you back in the habit of following me, or is your timing just that creepy, because I’m getting into the elevator. I’ll be right up.”

“Oh, good! Because somebody’s here, and … look- I’ll meet you in the hallway.”

“Ugh, whatever.” She spends a moment to mourn the fact that regardless of how aggressively she swipes her screen to end a call, the force of the gesture is not communicated to the person on the other end of the line.

When the elevator dings and the doors open, Malcolm is already there, pacing as he waits for her. She takes one look at the concerned face he’s making and scoffs preemptively. With everything going on lately, she’s really not in the mood to deal with whatever it is that she’s about to walk into. “What? Malcolm, what? And why the hell are you still hanging out in my apartment?”

“Jess, I’m just trying to help. But, you really need to go see who it is that’s waiting for you.”

“God, would you stop with the dramatics and just tell me?”

“No, you need to see for yourself. And … just hear him out. Okay?”

“The more you talk, the more I’m sure that I don’t want to deal with whoever it is.”

“Yes, you do. Trust me. Just give him a chance, alright?”

“Jesus, fine. But you’re gonna stay the hell home for the rest of the day. Better yet, the next week.”

He holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender and backs toward his apartment. “If that’s what it takes. But please, Jess. Talk to him.”

“God, I’m going.” She rolls her eyes and stalks down the hall to her apartment where the door is standing open a crack. She starts talking as soon as she gets there, wanting to put an end to whatever is going on before she has to get involved in it.

“Look, let’s get one thing straight. I don’t really care who you are or why you’re here-” She opens the door while she’s speaking and turns around to shut it in a smooth, quick motion, without looking at who is sitting in the chair in front of her desk. But as soon as she turns, she stills as every nerve in her body short-circuits, leaving her frozen.

The man slowly stands and turns to face her. “I have a suspicion that you might.”

Jessica is sure her heart stops for a second before it starts up again, beating triple speed. Her mouth gapes as she tries to process what she sees in front of her. Her voice is nothing more than a whisper when she does finally speak. “ _Holy shit_ … Matt? W-what...?”

“Jess, I'm sorry-”

Her shocked stillness starts to give way to shocked outrage as weeks of anger start to form in her chest, spurring her into action as she crosses the length of her apartment to stand in front of him where he is standing next to her desk. “What the goddamn _fuck,_ Matt? You should be … I watched as a building came down with you still underneath it. How the hell are you even alive right now? And where the hell have you been?”

He fidgets anxiously, eventually slipping his hands in he pockets of his coat. “Well, it was touch and go there for a bit. Or so I’m told. I… don’t know exactly what happened, but from what I’ve been able to piece together, somehow Elektra survived and took me t-”

She interrupts him, voice loud and harsh, with both hands up to halt his words. “Stop. Stop right there. We’ll come back to ‘how’ in a minute, but you’ve reminded me of the more pressing question. And in order for me to decide I don’t need to punch you so hard you travel back in time to unmake your shitty ass decision, you need to tell me _why_. What in the ever loving _fuck_ were you thinking?!”

She watches him frown and struggle for words, with a sneer on her face. “I don't… I don't know. I-I just knew that I had to try to save her. And if I couldn't, I needed to be sure she wouldn’t have to suffer anymore or be able to hurt anyone else.”

She crosses her arms in front of her, voice razor-sharp. “Bullshit. There are other ways you could have done that without staying down in that goddamn hole.”

“Jess-”

“ _No_! Fuck you, Matt! I thought you were gone. Never coming back, buried in the ground under a hundred tons of rubble, _dead_. Do you have any idea what that's like?”

He hangs his head in shame, and the rush of vindication she feels at the sight dims the intensity of her fury the tiniest amount. When he speaks, his voice is sufficiently chagrined to keep her from lashing out at him again, at least for a moment. “Not exactly those circumstances, but … I have some idea. And I'm sorry. Truly.”

She crosses her arms in front of her and shoots him a nasty glare that she’s sure he can feel. “I knew you were an idiot, but I didn’t realize you were _that_ much of an idiot.”

He sighs and puts his hands on his hips, the gesture frustratingly familiar and calming in a moment when she just wants to rage. “I know it might be hard for you to understand, but pleas-”

“But it’s not hard for me to understand. It’s really fucking simple, actually. You were blinded by your guilt and you thought you could save her, so you intentionally threw your life away in some crazy-ass charade of martyrdom. Because, I guess you truly didn’t think deserved any better. Jesus, your savior complex is bordering on certifiable. But that’s all bullshit. And you’re the one who doesn’t understand.”

He cocks his head, a confused frown overtaking his expression. “What do you mean?”

She has to work to regulate her breathing so that she can continue to speak rather than just seething at him. “You were _missed_ , you asshole. It wasn’t just about you. We were a team, the four of us. An admittedly demented and unconventional one, but still a successful team. And you bailed. You made me... made all of us feel like we had somehow failed you or let you down-”

“No, it wasn’t like that. It was my-”

“No, goddammit! Shut up and listen! I let you in. I _trusted_ you. And you disappeared. You threw your life away because of your guilt, and I didn’t … I couldn’t ...” Against her will, she feels tears well in her eyes and tries to breathe through them, but she finds she can’t. All of a sudden, he’s in her personal space bubble, putting a hand on her shoulder, and she loves it but hates it at the same time. When he speaks, low and soft, his voice is so soothing. She wants to wrap herself up in it for the rest of eternity as much as she wants to sock him in the face for how angry she is.

“Jess, this wasn’t your fault. Please don’t torture yourself over it.”

She roughly wipes her tears away, all but snarling at him. “No, you're right. It wasn’t, and you've done more than enough of that for me.” She watches as his face crumbles, shame washing over him. He starts to remove his hand from her shoulder, but on instinct she snatches his wrist and holds it, just tight enough to prevent him from breaking her grip, keeping him from backing away from her. She needs him to understand everything she is feeling. Her fury. Her guilt. Her shock. Her _relief_. His head bobs as he considers her, eyebrows raised. But she doesn’t let him speak yet, having worked up enough momentum to finish giving him a piece of her mind.

“What is your damage, Murdock? Did you honestly think that no one would miss you? That dying along with her was worth more than all the good you could do to help everyone else? _Goddammit_ , Matt! It wasn’t all her fault, but she didn’t care about you. Not like the rest of us. Because everyone missed you. The whole fucking city.” She drops his wrist and looks down at the floor, unable to look at his face for another second as overwhelming emotion starts to bubble up in her chest. “… _I_ missed you. Every goddamn minute of every goddamn day.”

Fresh tears start to spill onto her cheeks, but they don’t stay there for long. Because his hands come up to wipe them away and cup her face with a tenderness that makes her heart ache. Against her will, she feels herself leaning into his touch, desperate for him now that he’s here. Because now that he’s _back_ , she vows to never lose him again.

And not for the first time, she’s surprised by the way that he seems to be able to read her mind as he wraps one hand gently around the back of her head and pulls her to him until their foreheads are touching. He whispers to her softly, so tenderly, and she forgets to breathe as she notices that the black hole that had take up residence in her chest is slowing starting to shrink.

“Jessica, from the bottom of my heart, I’m so incredibly sorry. I never meant to hurt you like that-”

But she’s done talking for now, because in this moment, having him here, so close, is all that she can focus on. Within the span of a breath, she is pulling his lips to hers and sighing around the relief she tastes on his tongue. He matches her fervor and she feels tension drain out of him as he wraps himself around her. She finds herself losing the ability to form any coherent thoughts, too focused on the pounding of her heart, the delicious and gentle tug of his hand in her hair, and the strength of his arm as he places his hand on the small of her back and pulls her securely to him. All of which gives her a feeling of relief and weightlessness as she settles into his arms. But her coherent mind fights to make another thought known before she gives in to what she has wanted to do for weeks now.

She pulls her mouth away from his just far enough to speak. Her lips brush ever so faintly against his as she forms the words. “Just to be clear, I’m still pissed and you’re not off the hook. But I can think of a way that you can start trying to make it up to me.”

He chuckles, voice low and playful like it gets when it’s just the two of them. She tries to ignore the way the sound softens the edges of her fury. “It would be my pleasure.” He kisses her again and she feels the guilt and sorrow and anger that had settled like stones in her stomach start to fracture and dissolve into nothingness. The feeling of it leaves her as breathless as his kiss, but it also reminds her of one final thing that she needs to say, right now before the moment passes.

She takes his shoulders in her hands and pushes him an arm’s length away. It takes her a moment to catch her breath, and then she makes her plea to him. “But you better promise me one thing.”

His face is so open, so concerned that her heart stutters at the sight. “What?”

“No more being a martyr. You’re not expendable, and you better not leave me like that again.” She gives him a hard look and pokes a finger into the center of his chest to emphasize her words.

He sighs and gives her a sad smile as he takes off his glasses. He puts them in his jacket pocket then brushes light fingers along her cheek before taking her face gently in his hand. “ _Never_ , Jess. I promise.”

And with that, her reserve snaps and she surges forward, kissing him fiercely, before taking his hand and leading him back to her bedroom.

\---

Later, as she lays in her bed, Matt dozing beside her, she finds she is once more unable to sleep. This time, though, it’s joy and relief that are keeping her up, and she’ll take this kind of insomnia over the other kind any day. As she stares up at the ceiling and listens to the ambient sounds of the night, the rhythm of his breathing catches her attention, and with it, a comforting thought occurs to her. Because now she’ll get to hear his story, just like he’ll get to hear hers. As she considers this possibility, a calm settles over her, and she feels herself start to drift off for the first time in weeks. But before she is lost to oblivion, she makes a mental note to finally give him shit about all the sleep he’s cost her in morning. And maybe, if she’s feeling gracious (and depending on how he tries to make it up to her tomorrow) she might even thank him for coming back and helping her get back in the habit of sleeping again. Hopefully, for good this time.

**Author's Note:**

> These two idiots will be the death of me. I have so many ideas, both in the canon of the show and in my own Matt/Jess universe, and I'm writing as fast as I can, I swear. I hope you like this offering. Let me know your thoughts if you're so inclined. And thanks so much for reading!


End file.
